I don't mind storms and clouds, not at all.
I hear you questioning such a statement.
Doesn't sound like a rational remark to call.
No one can feel so careless with abandon lent.

Maybe, something is lacking in my thinking,
You must believe there is a lost wisdom.
I'm standing in awe, gaping, blinking
Waiting for the blowing, tearing, wind to come.

I can't seem to help myself I tell you,
Is it the anxious wonder of what will be?
The calm so complete surrounds in lieu,
Of what is approaching, I cannot see.

To analyze these strange minutes before the blow,
Of simple foolhardiness I'll never be able to explain.
Should the clouds hold tornado or maybe just snow,
Standing in dangers presence I agree, is not sane.

I'm drawn to storm clouds like a flame to a moth.
Held there somehow like I'm one with it.
While they spread themselves over the sky like rumpled cloth
Waiting I am, enjoying this, the sky dark, and lit.

All at once reality comes upon the scene,
Sheets of rain, driven by jerking winds,
Hint not, but instead warn they are mean.
"Run, run, for cover, sanity returns, my friends."

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